


All My Sandcastles Fall (Like the Ashes of Cigarettes)

by asaloki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asaloki/pseuds/asaloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div>
  <p>Cas tells him, sincere and resolute, “You’re my anchor, Sam.” </p>
  <p>Sam’s own smile, though, is rueful. If he’s an anchor, he’s a poor excuse for one, he thinks; Cas remains untethered, after all, free to roam the Earth and her cities at whim, and all the love in Sam’s heart will never be enough to weigh Cas down for more than a few months at a time. </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	All My Sandcastles Fall (Like the Ashes of Cigarettes)

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://waldostiel.tumblr.com)

It’s late autumn; the trees are stripped bare and the air is cool. Sam watches the sun as it sets over the horizon in wistful silence, leaning forward onto the balustrade. He answers his phone on the first ring and lifts it up to his ear. “Hey, Dean.” He doesn’t even need to look at the Caller ID to know that it’s his older brother. The Batman theme he assigned to his calls discloses that information. Dean has settled down now with Lisa and Ben. He lives the apple-pie life, white picket fence and all, but Sam knows that he’s still a child at heart, albeit a more subdued one, and Ben’s influence only ever fuels that inner childishness.

Dean’s voice is static over a bad line. “Cas is home,” he tells Sam in an excited hush. “He’s come back to us, Sam.”

Sam feels the colour filter back – slowly, gently, surely – into his achromatic world as soon as he hears those words.

He can breathe for what feels like the first time in months. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he tells Dean before disconnecting the call and leaving the balcony. It doesn’t even occur to him that the drive takes twice that amount of time, even in light traffic. All he knows is that he needs to reach Cas as soon as he can. He needs to see him.

 

Cas looks the same; it’s like he stepped out of a memory, back into Sam’s life. Time has not touched him in the months since Sam last saw him, or so it seems, and perhaps that’s a result of his life – the constant moving, evading even time itself – but Sam doesn’t know for sure, and he daren’t ruminate out loud for fear of being branded insane. Besides, for all his speculation is true on the surface, Sam comes to realise, upon closer inspection, that Cas has mellowed, though not like Dean, who has mellowed with age. It’s experience that shapes Cas. It’s experience that deepens the blue of his eyes into inscrutable oceans, never to be understood. Sam tries but it is to no avail. He drowns. Cas becomes more and more lost to him. The ocean cannot be tamed by the shore, it is told.

Sam doesn’t add much to the conversation but watches Cas from across the room and notices how Cas often looks back in his direction. Even as Dean talks and talks, it’s _Sam_ who is able to hold onto Cas’ attention, and he feels a swell of pride to have accomplished even that much.

It’s late when Dean starts to stretch and make excuses. “Sorry, buddy,” he tells Cas, bleary-eyed and swallowing a yawn. “You know how it is. It’s good to have you back and all, but I really gotta get me some beauty sleep. I don’t pull off the gaunt zombie look as well as our Sammy over there does.”

Cas nods, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Of course, Dean,” he says simply, unfazed. He stands up from the worn sofa and looks over towards Sam expectantly. “Sam?” He presses when Sam does not immediately move to do the same. 

It’s the first time Cas has addressed him since his return, Sam realises. He stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, aiming for nonchalant and falling short. “So, uh, I’ll see you around, Dean,” he manages to say. Somehow, Sam wins the award for most awkward departure – a difficult feat when Cas is in the running – but neither Dean nor Cas seems to notice his despair. The two of them talk in hushed tones near the door while Sam busies himself, loading Cas’ belongings into the trunk of his car. 

One bag can hold all of Cas’ possessions, Sam comes to learn. 

He wonders if that should mean something significant to him.

During the drive back to Sam’s house, Cas remains silent but Sam feels the weight and promise of his intent stare even so. His hands tremble on the wheel and all Sam can hear is Cas’ breathing next to him, the erratic beats of his own heart in his chest— It’s a relief for them to be alone at last, but Sam is as nervous as he is excited. His nerves only triple when they finally reach the outskirts where he lives, the silence tangible between them. 

Sam parks his car in the drive and the automatic porch-light flickers to life, casting an amber glow. He bites his lip. “I haven’t made up the guest room,” he admits to Cas, the need to fill the silence overwhelming him. The two of them are sat side by side in Sam’s beaten-up old car, parked up outside his house in the outskirts of town, and neither one of them has made a move to leave the vehicle though it’s long overdue. It’s awkward, tense, and Sam fumbles to unfasten his seatbelt, taking his time in doing so because he’s still waiting for Cas to do something, to say something. Anything. 

Cas says, “Oh,” and unbuckles his own seatbelt. 

He doesn’t seem to care much.

It’s not until the two of them are stood in Sam’s living room (Cas having brought in his own bag this time) that a real conversation starts, both of them hesitant, tiptoeing on eggshells to start with as they reacquaint themselves. Sam’s hands have been shoved back in his pockets. Cas fiddles with the belt of his trenchcoat. “So,” Sam says, stretching the lone syllable out for as long as he can, desperately reaching for something interesting to follow up with. In the end, he remarks, “Dean is happy to have you back, huh? I didn’t think he’d shut up long enough to let us leave.”

Cas, thankfully, has more to add than his usual nod-and-dismiss. “I’m happy to see him too,” he tells Sam. Dean is a safe topic for the two of them, the most important person in their lives. “I consider him to be a close friend—a harbour of sorts.”

Sam immediately hedges, “And what do you consider _me_ , Cas?” He can’t help himself. 

Cas tells him, sincere and resolute, “You’re my anchor, Sam.” And then he smiles a reserved little smile like he intends for it to be taken as a compliment—like he believes Sam should feel flattered to have been bestowed such an honest metaphor to his name. 

Sam’s own smile, though, is rueful. If he’s an anchor, he’s a poor excuse for one, he thinks; Cas remains untethered, after all, free to roam the Earth and her cities at whim, and all the love in Sam’s heart will never be enough to weigh Cas down for more than a few months at a time. Sam licks his lips, averts his gaze, and then asks, unable to refrain, “Do you ever resent me?”

He doesn’t want to hear the answer, but at the same time he needs to.

He needs to know. 

Cas reaches across to hold his hand and Sam lets him, feels the warmth flood into his chilled skin. “I have never resented you,” Cas insists, his thumb stroking the back of Sam’s hand as he talks. “How could I, Sam?” His voice is soft and Sam takes comfort in how it lulls him. He wants to take Cas to bed, to hold him in the vast darkness and map out his body with hands and tongue. He wants to feel how each inch of Castiel’s skin equates to a thousand miles, to explore him and unravel him until both men are sated and no mile is left uncharted between them. “You are no burden to me.”

Because Cas is unburdened by love and responsibilities, Sam thinks but does not dare to say. Because Cas loves without commitment and then takes his leave whenever it suits him to. Oh, Sam wants to be mistaken, but he is not so naïve to believe that this time it will be different than the last time, and the time before that… “Dean is married now,” he informs Cas. “To Lisa, I mean. I’m sure he probably mentioned it…” He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot as he talks.

Cas nods, accepting the sudden shift in conversation. “He did,” he confirms. He draws his hand back from Sam’s and looks elsewhere in the room, searching. “He also mentioned—Is that…” 

He veers off and Sam follows his stare. He almost feels bad when he sees the photo, sees his own smile directed at another—an embrace too intimate to be that of mere friends. “She’s called Ruby,” Sam tells Cas with some trepidation. He doesn’t dare to look at the other’s expression. He can’t bear to hurt Cas, even after all that has happened. “We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now.”

Cas doesn’t answer Sam for some time. He stares at the photograph like it holds all the answers in the known universe. Finally, though, he asks, “Does she make you happy?”

He sounds broken, resigned, and Sam inwardly panics at the note of finality in his tone. He realises that his answer, now, will be the one to decide whether this will be the last he sees of Cas… And the truth is Ruby _does_ make him happy… But she will never make him as happy as Cas does… So Sam lies. He says, “No,” and then takes Cas’ hands back in his own larger hands, reassuring him with his touch as much as he does his words, and chasing the doubts from his mind. “No, Cas. Of course not. Of course not.” He repeats himself over and over but the words are no less false. He knows Cas can hear the insincerity in them, too, but perhaps the lie on its own is enough—it’s enough that Cas can stay with him now, and not feel remorse for the inevitable repercussions, because Sam asked him to. It should make Sam bitter, the lack of balance between them, but all that ever ensues is weariness. “Now, come to bed with me.”

Cas does.

 

Sam watches the slow rise and fall of Cas’ chest as the man slumbers. He, too, is exhausted but his mind remains restless and stubborn. He stares at Cas’ silhouette – the familiar smooth lines and contours – until dawn breaks and the shadows around them wither. Cas’ eyes are a hazy blue when he opens them to peer across at his bed-mate. “Hello, Sam,” he murmurs; his voice is a low rumble in the stillness of the room, sleep-slurred and whisper-soft. He says no more, reluctant to shatter the calm hush that has settled between them with too many trivial words, but Sam doesn’t mind the silence; he has always found Cas’ kisses to be louder than his voice, his heated touches deafening. 

Cas’ hand comes to caress Sam’s face and Sam stills, holds his breath. He knows that his imperfections are plainly visible, more blatant than ever in the pale, unforgiving dawn. 

Under the intense scrutiny of Cas’ stare, he feels exposed and vulnerable. 

His flaws are not able to be seen on the surface (Sam doesn’t care so much about the dark circles that reside under his eyes, or the small blemish that sits beside his nose) but Cas has always seen beyond that and Sam knows that he must have seen how tainted he is, that he must have seen the concealed ire that stains Sam’s soul. 

Cas, though, his beautiful and kind Cas, smiles at him. It’s rueful and tender all at once. His thumb brushes over the shadowed skin, tracing the evidence of Sam’s fatigue, and Sam exhales shakily. “Cas,” he breathes.

Rest, Sam,” Cas instructs him, his voice still soft. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

It’s a promise, and Sam knows that he can trust Cas’ word. Of all things, sincerity is not something Cas lacks. Even so, Sam hears loudest the words that Cas doesn’t say, the promises he refuses to make because he cannot keep them. 

He’ll be there when Sam wakes, sure, but he will not be there forever… And the next time he leaves, who knows how much time will have to pass, wasted, between them before he returns? 

Sam knows for certain, at least, that it’s a matter of when and never a matter of if.

It’s all he has to hold onto. 

He settles down in bed and Cas moves with him, tucked safely into Sam’s arms, secure. Cas nuzzles into Sam’s neck and Sam noses Cas’ hair, and he doesn’t care, in that moment, as he drifts somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, that it’s all temporary. 

It’s only ever with Cas that Sam feels that he’s complete. All the time and all the spaces in between are meaningless, empty, no matter how hard Sam tries to fill that time and fill those spaces—no matter how hard he tries to move on in Cas’ absence, it’s futile.

 

Cas, true to his word, is still around when Sam finally wakes up around noon time, though he’s relocated to the main room.

Sam smiles, fond, and proceeds to watch Cas furtively from the bedroom doorway. Cas is sat on the sofa watching cartoons, his face so solemn it’s comical. He’s wearing Sam’s clothes, his legs drawn up to his chest so Sam can see where he had no choice but to roll up the legs, and eating Sam’s food. 

He looks so entirely at home that Sam’s heart aches. “I didn’t have you down as being the cartoon type,” Sam muses, averting his gaze back to the television screen but not before he sees Cas startle. “Sorry,” he adds, not really meaning it. He truly hadn’t expected the cartoons, though, and Sam saddens considerably at the sudden reminder that Cas has had the time to change. It’s an insignificant, petty thing, Sam knows, but it brings about a sense of loss even so. There are a million insignificant things, after all, little quirks and peculiarities that, when combined, make Cas… _Cas_.

Losing even one of those things is cause for sadness as far as Sam is concerned.

Sam stares at the screen until the picture blurs and finds he misses the familiar drone of the nature channel, the ridiculous documentaries that Cas used to insist on watching to broaden Sam’s knowledge. Sam remembers, in particular, one such documentary that taught him all about bees and the intricacies of their mating habits. Cas, of course, had been completely fascinated, and afterwards he’d keened into Sam’s intimate embrace with a different kind of fascination, and looked upon him with such utter reverence, like Sam had gifted him something entirely precious, when all he’d truly done was sit there quietly beside Cas for an hour and a half.

Cas looks at him now mildly. “Dean recommended I watch them,” he explains. “He said it would be beneficial, that I would _lighten up_.” He raises his hands so Sam can both hear and see the quotation marks surrounding the phrase. 

It’s unnecessary, of course, but Sam snorts and feels the tension leave him. He realises he was too hasty in his earlier reassessment of Cas, too quick to find faults. It’s hard not to be on edge. “How are you finding it?” He asks, his lips turning back up into an easy smile as he crosses the room to stand behind the sofa. Cas turns his attention back to the television pointedly. 

Sam leans over him, trailing kisses along his neck and bumping his nose against the lobe of an ear, aiming to distract, but Cas carries on eating and watching, his entire focus fixed on the cartoon in front of him. 

Sam is left to try and earn his desired reaction, and he does so with enthusiasm.

He hears the smile in Cas’ voice as the other replies at last, matter-of-factly (and a little breathless, to Sam’s own satisfaction), “It’s hilarious, Sam.”

The two of them don’t even make it to the bedroom in the end.

It’s no less perfect.

 

Sam takes down the picture of him and Ruby later that same night, and Cas watches him do so, curious. 

Cas doesn’t ask about it, though, and Sam doesn’t mention her again.

He and Cas stay up late, cuddled up on the sofa. They watch a documentary about lions, and it’s as close to normal as it can ever be between them.

 

(He doesn’t answer her calls either.)

 

Dean insists on treating Cas to the tourist experience, first chance he gets. He doesn’t seem to care that Cas is no tourist, and he doesn’t seem to notice the tension that arises between his friend and little brother whenever he mentions Cas’ travels. “Hey, Cas?” he asks when their day draws to an eventual close, the three of them huddled in a small coffee shop to avoid the worst of the rain. (Of course it would rain, Sam thinks with some bitterness.) “How long d’ya think you’ll stick around this time?”

Cas’ gaze briefly flickers over towards Sam, who blanches at Dean’s words, before lowering back down to the table, evasive. He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. “I would like to stay for a while, I think.”

 

A while turns out to mean a month and a half. 

It’s a Thursday when Cas leaves, mid-afternoon, and he does so without a word. 

 

Life goes on.

 

But Sam misses him.

He misses Cas.

 

He misses the colour—all the colour that seems to leave his life whenever Cas does.

 

It’s mid-spring; the boughs of the trees are covered in pink blossom and the air is cool. Sam watches the sun as it sets over the horizon in wistful silence, leaning forward onto the balustrade. He answers his phone on the first ring and lifts it up to his ear. “Hey, Dean.”

Dean’s voice is static over a bad line. “Cas is home.” 


End file.
